Page 45 of The Puppetmaster

I turn back to him and am met with his dark complexion and black gaze as he approaches me.

Michael Raad. That second name sounded exotic to me from the start—and that’s because it is.

“Is that where you’re from?” I wonder out loud. “You’re Egyptian?”

He shakes his head. “No. My mother was.”

“Was?”

His gaze darkens, and before I know it, he grabs the strings again, pulling me away from the canvas and toward the bed. I didn’t notice it before, but there’s a door right next to it leading into an exquisite bathroom.

“Take a shower,” he orders. “And make yourself presentable. I’ll be back shortly.”

“Where are you going?” I ask as he begins to untie the strings from the cuffs. He neatly rolls them up in his hands and takes them with him as he heads for the door.

“Mic-Master,” I yell after him, biting my tongue for almost using his name instead of the titles I’m supposed to address him with.

He freezes, but keeps his back to me.

“I won’t be gone for long,” he answers my question. “Don’t linger and don’t leave the room. You stay here until I’m back. Understand?”

I nod. “Yes, Master.”

With that, he leaves me to it, hurrying out the door as if he couldn’t get away from me fast enough.

I let out a deep sigh, certain to take his warning not to waste any time to heart. The bathroom is almost the size of my bedroom at home, and it features a large rain showerhead as well as a Jacuzzi hot tub. My eyes rest longingly on the tub for a few moments before I decide that it’s probably smarter to content myself with the shower for now.

I check the counter with the sink to my right and find everything a girl could ever ask for to make herself pretty: shampoo, conditioner, bath soaps, body lotion, razors, all kinds of hair products that I wouldn’t even know how to use, and more makeup than I could ever need. No wonder he told me not to worry about packing mundane things.

I take advantage of the rain showerhead, relishing the hot drops as they drizzle over my body as I generously soap myself with a freshly scented lavender shower gel. His warning still rings in my ears and I don’t want to give him another reason to get angry at me, so I cut the shower shorter than I’d like to. It won’t be my last, and next time I might even have time to soak in the hot tub.

Wrapping myself in a soft white bathrobe that’s hanging right next to the shower, I step in front of the large mirror above the sink. My makeup has been ruined by the tears and his rough handling, but the waterproof mascara still holds on for dear life. Still, I decide to wash my face entirely and re-apply my face with the products he’s provided, applying the same accents and black lines across my eyelids that I wear on a daily basis. I never expected that my makeup routine and the skills it helped me acquire would ever come in handy like this. If I were like my little sister—who barely wears makeup at all and needs about an hour to apply even the easiest basics—I would be in trouble to adhere to his allotted time.

I finish my face with a coating of light pink gloss on my lips and walk back into the bedroom, still naked beneath the bathrobe. Make yourself presentable, he said. Does that mean he wants me to get dressed? And if so, in what?

I steer toward my suitcase on instinct, if only for the comfort of having something familiar with me. But before I kneel down to open it, curiosity gets the better of me and my eyes latch onto the dresser instead.

It wouldn’t be here if there were nothing in it, right?

I hesitate for a moment, worried that I might be about to do something forbidden. But he did say this was my room, and he didn’t say anything about not looking inside the dresser. Cautiously, I open one of the uppermost drawers, slowly and with the best intention of not making any noise. My eyes widen when I’m faced with a sea of fabric, lingerie, stockings, and a few negligées—all of it in pure white.

He really has a specific taste for this non-color, it seems. Is that why he picked me out in the first place? Because I was wearing all-white lingerie? Did he think I knew something about him that others didn’t and thus knowingly drew his attention to me like that?

To be honest, I wish that were true. Because then I would know why this extraordinary man chose me to be his puppet, me of all people, even though I seem to be giving him nothing but headaches.

A noise is coming from the doorway and it causes me to jump away from the dresser, like a little kid who has just gotten caught in the act. My head spins to the left, my eyes glued to the door, but it doesn’t open.

“Master?” I ask, my voice trembling.

No one answers, but I hear the same noise as before. Something is moving against the door from the outside, but it’s not knocking I hear.

It’s scratching.

Chapter 29

Raad

No more drifting off course from now on. That’s the dead-set intention with which I leave her alone in her room and head back downstairs to take care of the papers that we left in disarray.

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